


Don't Leave

by Inthelittledoctor



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Letters, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 13:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6118204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inthelittledoctor/pseuds/Inthelittledoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd left her four months ago without any word of ever coming back. Four whole months. Everyday felt the same. Repeated, boring. That is until she finds a box under her bed containing letters addressed to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Leave

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I found your box of letters underneath my bed and because I'm a nosy motherfucker I decided to read them and it turns out they were addressed to me and the last one was dated the day you moved out and I'm not quite sure this was a good idea but here I am, standing on your doorstep, wondering why the fuck we're not together anymore.

Things had actually been going well between them. He'd gotten used to the hugs and the kisses on places that weren't his lips. They hadn't quite gotten there yet, but they were close. At least, she thought they were close to actually kissing until he up and left. They'd been sitting on her couch after a long adventure, talking about everything and nothing, and then he'd just gotten up, told her some fake sounding excuse and taken off. She'd thought he'd come back. She really did. 

Four months. That's how long he'd been gone. It felt like four years without him. She finally saw what he meant when he said normal time passed so slowly. Everything felt the same. Every day a repeat of the last. Wake up, eat, go to school, teach, eat, oh look, Courtney Woods was causing trouble yet again, best go stop that, go home, eat, fall into bed, exhausted to no end, yet lay awake in bed all night hoping she'll hear the noise that means he's come back. She never does. Never has. Tenses, all so confusing now. Just like everything else in her life. Tiring and confusing. 

She goes to lay down for the one hundred and twenty ninth time since he's left (she's counted. She hates that she has.) and realises she's still wearing her work clothes, but isn't not really like she cares. She actually does this a lot more often than she's willing to admit. Carelessly, she's unzipping it and throwing it on the floor next to her bed, leaving her in an over sized jumper along with some leggings she'd probably been wearing for a week straight. What was the point of taking care of herself if he wasn't there? Closing her eyes, she's thinking of all the missed opportunities she had, all the times she could've kissed him but held herself back, all the times she couldn't told him she loved him but decided against it. She hated herself for missing out on things. Missing out on things that she wanted to do more than anything in the universe. Well, almost more than anything in the universe. The thing she wanted to do the most right now was just see him. Or even talk to him. Something. Anything to show that he's still there and still even knows who she is. 

It turns out to be another restless night. Those came more often now. Dragging herself out of bed, she's kicking the discarded skirt from the previous night under the bed, deciding to worry about it later. Stumbling over to her dresser, she's grabbing a new jumper and searching around for a clean skirt, only to find that there were none left. Alright. Black skirt for the third day in a row it is then. She's dragging her feet back over to her bed, kneeling down to reach under her bed for the skirt, only to have her hand hit something much more solid than a skirt. She never stored anything under her bed. Oh God, had he left something here? Was there a dead alien under her bed or something? Cautiously, she's getting on her knees and peeking under the bed, finding a box with her name on it. She's pulling the box out from under her bed along with her skirt, hastily sliding on her skirt and placing the box on her bed. Looking at the clock on her bedside table, she's feeling something almost like panic run through her as she sees the time and decides to deal with the box after work. 

The box was an interruption. She's going to have to skip a part of her schedule. She supposed breakfast could be skipped, seeing as though she was never hungry in the morning anyway. Grabbing her keys, she's running out the door, bounding down the stairs and pushing the door open with all her body weight, the fresh air hitting her face feeling more like a slap of reality than anything else. She's taking a cab to work, not trusting herself to drive. On with her schedule. Teach. Eat lunch alone in her classroom. Courtney decided to not read her assigned pages and when asked a question, yells out,'Ozzie loves the Scottie,' which got her kicked out of the classroom. No patience today. The next class would be spent crying in the teaches lounge while her students watched a movie. Classes done with, time to haul a cab. Not one cab driver can cares enough to stop for her, she supposes. Fair enough. She has legs. She can walk. So she's walking home, keeping her eyes to the ground. Push open the door, trudge up the stairs, collapse into her flat. All part of the normal schedule. Her stomach's growling, reminding her she'd skipped breakfast and hardly eaten lunch. Then she's remembering the box. 

For the first time in a while, she's moving swiftly, feet carrying her to her room without hesitation. There's the box in all of its mysterious glory. Exciting. Intriguing. Enticing. She's walking over to her bed and falling down onto it, reaching for the box and pulling it into her lap. Her hand's on the lid and God, she's not ready for this, she already knows it's something of his in the box. Moment of truth. Time to figure out what he left behind. She's pulling the lid off the box and furrowing her brow at what's inside. Envelopes. Picking one up, she's looking to see if it's addressed to anyone, not at all surprised to see her name on the back, yet there's a feeling of sorrow that runs through her as she sees her name written in his handwriting. She's carefully opening the envelope, making sure she doesn't accidentally rip it seeing as though it's one of the only things she has left from him. Pulling the letter out of the envelope, she's placing the envelop on the bed next to her and unfolding the paper in her hands, tears prickling up in her eyes as she scans the paper, seeing his rushed handwriting, the kind he only used when his mind was flooding with thoughts he needed to get out. There's a date in the top right hand corner. Half a year ago. Seems like a lifetime ago. 

_Clara,_

_You've just forced me to watch Pride and Prejudice and I really don't have the hearts to tell you that I didn't like it. I made Jane watch it once and she completely hated it, saying that it wasn't how she envisioned her story and it may be the worst thing she's ever had the misfortune of seeing. Keep in mind, this is the sweet, never a cruel word Miss Austen I'm talking about. So, I suppose my point is that Jane and I think the same._

_If you ever want to watch Pride and Prejudice again, I suppose I can endure it, seeing as though that means I'll get to see you grinning for what seems like hours (and mind you, it probably is.)._

_-The Doctor_

_P.S. You've just made me watch Pride and Prejudice again. I drew how you looked during the movie to show you what I was talking about._

Under the P.S. was a far too detailed drawing of her smiling, the light of the tele reflecting in her eyes. Clutching the letter in her hand, her other hand is going up to cover her mouth, a choked sob escaping her as she stares at the letter. The tears in her eyes had spilled long ago, yet now they're dripping off her chin, landing on the note and making the ink run. There were more. More letters for her to read and she already knew that she was going to read them all night and cry until she had no more tears left. Pulling out another envelope, she's ripping it open, no longer caring about the envelopes, eager to get to the contents of the envelope. She's unfolding this letter to find it dated the day he left, and for a moment, she's staring at the date in disbelief, and as she reads the first few words, she knows it can't be from any other day. 

_Clara,_

_I'm sorry. I know my leaving was abrupt, and I know you'll probably still be recovering by the time you find this, but trust me, me leaving was for the best. You could've been hurt, or worse, killed, if you continued to travel with me and I can't let that happen. I need you to be safe, even if the only way to accomplish that is by leaving you. Please don't let me leaving get in the way of your normal human life, I know how much you enjoy it and I don't want to ruin it._

_You're strong, Clara, I know you can make it through this. If this is my last chance to say this, then I suppose I should say it now. I love you. The truth is, I've loved you for so long now and I've been a coward not to tell you. I'm sorry for everything._

_-The Doctor_

Everything inside of her felt like it was dying. He loved her and he left. She wants to hate him so bad, really does, but yet she can't, and here she is crying over this stupid man who hadn't actually took the time to sit down and talk to her about what was on his mind. They could've made their adventures safer. Something. Anything to keep him with her. Throwing the letter onto the bed next to her, she's digging through the box for another letter, hoping to find something to cheer her up, even if it was just a little bit. Tear the envelope, smell the smell of stardust leaking out of the envelope. Read the letter. This one was about him missing her. Missing her smell and the feel of her, missing just simply her company. An indirect declaration of love. She hates this. She wants to stop, but she can't. One more letter. That's all she's allowing herself. Two papers are falling out of this envelope and she's trying so hard to furrow her brow, but it's so hard to do that when she's crying. The letter's about them looking out at the stars and drinking tea, him noticing little things about her. The second piece of paper is a drawing and it makes her feel like her guts have just been ripped out. God, he was so stupid for leaving. 

She's pushing the box off of her lap and promptly standing up, grabbing her phone out of her skirt pocket and going to her contacts, finding his and staring at it. It's not like he was going to answer, so what was the harm in calling? She's taking a nervous breath out, stopping her pacing and pressing the call button, closing her eyes, feeling her heart rate pick up with each ring. The other line picks up. Her heart stops. 

'Hello?' He's saying, voice gruff, Scottish lilt prominent. 

She can't breath. Calm, Clara, she's telling herself, you can do this. 'I need you,' she's breathing out, and it's not quite what she wants to say, but it works.

'Who is this?' He's asking, sounding like he genuinely didn't know who she was and she swears, once he gets here she's going to slap him. 

'Oh, shut up,' she's saying, coming off angrier than expected,'I've been going through Hell without you and I'm really not in the mood for your jokes at the moment. Get your arse over here before I go to UNIT and have them track you down.'

The call's ending. She's praying he'll come, because if she doesn't, she's not entirely sure she'll be able to cope. There's a knock at her door. It really can't be anyone else but him, can it? She's rushing to the door, almost tripping on some of her garbage on the floor on the way. Throwing the door open, she's seeing him there and her tears are starting again, her only thought being that he's here now and she never wants him to leave. He's giving her a lopsided smile and holding his hand out toward her, her looking down to see a single flower in his hand. The pedals crimson on the edges that quickly fading into lilac, the stem a dirty yellow. 

'I got you an apology gift,' he's pausing, furrowing his brow,'Humans do that, right?'

'You arse,' she's muttering, leaping towards him and throwing her arms around him. A breathy grunt is escaping him and he's wrapping an arm around her, arm barely touching her. 'Please don't leave me again,' she's murmuring into his chest, arms tightening around him. 

'I have to,' he's whispering, relaxing under her touch and placing his chin on the top of her head. 

She's pulling away and looking up at him, all emotion hidden from her features. 'Is the TARDIS outside?' 

He's nodding. She's smiling. It's been so long since she's properly smiled. She's grabbing his hand and pulling him into her flat, closing the door behind them and locking it. Turning to him, she's seeing him raise and eyebrow and she's laughing weakly, her laughter quickly turning into sobbing. She's stumbling towards him and gripping his shirt weakly, her arms limp. 

'Are you okay?' He's questioning. 

'You're such an idiot,' she's choking out, looking up at him with tearful eyes. 

He's opening his mouth to say something, only to close it and furrow his brow. Gently, he's taking her hands off of his shirt and holding them in his, giving her a worried look. 'You look horrible,' he's commenting, concerned, just now noticing the dark circles under her eyes and her pale skin. Not only that, but she looked skinner, her face bonier and her hands frail. He's looking around, taking in the mess surrounding him and the dingy mood of the flat. 

'Everything here looks horrible. Why haven't you been taking care of yourself?' He's questioning, dropping one of her hands to reach up and cup her cheek. 

'You weren't here so I didn't see the point,' she's croaking out, and he's feeling guilt run through him. 

'Oh, Clara,' he's murmuring, his guilt flooding his voice,'Clara, Clara, Clara...'

She's sniffing and slowly moving her hand to cover the one on her cheek, closing her eyes and leaning into his touch. 'I've missed you so much, you daft old man.'

'Clara, this shouldn't have happened. I'm sorry. I didn't think it would turn out like this,' he's apologising, worry overwhelming his eyes. 

'Please don't leave me again,' she's pleading, and he's reluctantly nodding, lowering his forehead down onto hers. 

'I promise I will never leave you again, Clara Oswald,' he's murmuring, feeling her breath on his lips. 

He's hearing her sniff and beginning to stroke her cheek with his thumb, trying to reassure her of the fact that he wasn't going anywhere. They're standing there until she calms down, and even after that, neither of them willing to part from the other just yet. All the pain she had felt over the last few months seemed to disappear when he was touching her and for some reason, she was thankful for that. She's deciding to take a risk and moving her lips to his, giving him a quick, gentle kiss, almost like a test of some sorts. She's pulling away and looking at him with half lidded eyes, waiting for approval from him. Instead she's getting a slightly scared look from him and a,'You found the letters didn't you?'

She's laughing lightly, her tone still slightly sad as she replies,'Yeah.'

Sighing, he's taking his forehead off of hers and gently taking his hand off her cheek, thinning his lips. 'You know why I can't stay then?' 

'I know why you don't want to stay, but I don't quite see a reason for you having to leave,' she's replying. 

Another sigh from him,'You're going to be the death of me.' 

'Good,' she's teasing, sniffing for one last time before informing,'And for the record, I love you too.'

And for the first time that day, he's actually properly smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos if you enjoyed and comments are always appreciated.


End file.
